One Summer in Italy. Sue Moorcroft

Do you know where I can find my uncle? My father left him a message.’

      Ernesto wiped his sweating forehead on the sleeve of his shirt. ‘A message?’ He gazed at the distant peaks and his steps slowed as if with the weight of his thoughts. Eventually he offered, ‘I don’t have his address in my head but I’ll see him on Sunday, I think, because we attend the same mass. If you wish, I’ll tell him where you’re living and then he’ll find you for himself.’

      ‘OK.’ The urge to skip faded. Ernesto seemed to be picking his words. Maybe he thought Gianni might not want to meet her? It was fair enough that he be given the choice, she acknowledged reluctantly, quashing a tiny wriggle of hurt. She’d known for months she was going to make this trip but Gianni might want time to digest the fact of her presence – even her existence – before they came face to face. Several times she’d thought of trying to locate him and sending a letter or email before her visit, but she hadn’t known where to start and it had seemed one task too many in the tedium of tying up Aldo’s affairs. ‘Yes, please,’ she answered eventually. ‘But is it possible to leave it to me to tell him about Dad dying? I think that was what he wanted. My uncle can leave me a message at Casa Felice on Via Virgilio … if he wants to.’

      Back on the edges of town again, they found shade to walk in. Ernesto asked about Sofia’s job and her plans to travel for at least two years.

      ‘You are an independent young woman.’ He smiled as they once again entered the Piazza Santa Lucia.

      ‘In practical ways,’ she agreed cautiously. ‘I’ve spent so many years feeling as if the world was passing me by. Even after Dad died—’ her voice quavered for an instant ‘—I had to arrange the funeral, deal with his estate and sell the house in time to get out here for the summer season. I need to have fun. To experience the world.’ Then, to cheer herself up, she asked Ernesto for suggestions for what to see in Umbria and left the emotion behind in the excitement of talking about Lake Trasimeno and ‘Il Duomo’, the cathedral in Orvieto.

      It was nearly six o’clock by the time they kissed cheeks, called ‘Ciao!’ and went their separate ways. Sofia had an overwhelming desire for a glass or three of cold wine. As she trailed through the arch to Piazza Roma, legs heavy from the walk, she almost flopped down at the nearest shady café. But she would enjoy it so much more after a shower and a change, she told herself, and there was no rule to prevent her drinking in Il Giardino as a paying customer. Amy was scheduled to be serving there this evening. Would Davide have been given the same duty?

      His English was good, which was one of the reasons his mother liked him out there, and so he’d returned to Il Giardino, practising the fine art of throwing his weight around while simultaneously avoiding work himself.

      Sofia bought a bottle of cold water and began climbing the hill, taking her mind off her burning calves by checking out bars and cafés that might provide the kind of nightlife she thought a young single woman ought to be sampling.

      Finally she reached Casa Felice, intending to skirt Il Giardino and cross the car park to the utility yard where bins and crates were stored and deliveries received, and staff could access the hotel. Glancing over the greenery that marked the division between pavement and Il Giardino she saw Davide was indeed threading between tables, tray high. Amy was at the bar, balancing an order of drinks on her own tray, and another waiter Sofia had shared a shift with a couple of times, Thomas, was picking up food from the kitchen hatch.

      As she watched, Davide called something to Amy, who cast him a sullen look in reply.

      Hmm. Picking up her pace, Sofia whisked through the utility yard and out the other side, taking the steps down to the low, staff-only gate that led to the strip of garden overrun by vine that disguised what Benedetta grandly termed the two ‘apartments’ beneath the terrace for the live-in staff. Hotel guests wandering about the sloping gardens below the terrace would have to approach almost up to the fence of the utility yard in order to stumble upon the gate. The Morbidellis shared an apartment up in the eaves of the hotel and Sofia suspected it was not the kind best hidden behind a garden filled with rampaging vine.

      Once through the gate, Amy’s accommodation lay behind the first faded green door and Sofia’s behind the second. She let herself into her room and breathed a sigh of relief at the drop in temperature that came along with stone walls, tiled floor and only one window. Despite it being furnished economically, Sofia liked her room. The white walls made it airy, the bedclothes were pretty but simple in blue and white. There was enough room for the clothes she’d brought with her and the chest of drawers provided somewhere for her box of costume jewellery and makeup bag.

      She stripped, left her clothes in a heap and stepped into the small shower room. The lukewarm water felt fantastic as it sluiced down her body and, defying Benedetta’s warnings about not wasting water, even though Umbria received more rainfall than most of Italy, she gave herself up to the pleasure of being cool for several blissful minutes. Finally, she stirred herself to wash. When dry, she teamed a white dress with shiny black flip-flops, then brushed her hair into a high ponytail and picked up her purse.

      After retracing her route to the front of the hotel she cut across the car park to Il Giardino. From there she could see Amy hurrying through the tables wearing a set expression while Davide grinned slyly at her rear view. It looked as if Davide had bagged the centre section again and as the only empty table in the place was in that area, Sofia headed towards it.

      She noticed two things simultaneously. A group of tourists was racing her for the table; and a neighbouring table had just one occupant: Levi the Biker Man. Sofia paused.

      Davide spotted what was happening and indicated, by pointing rapidly between the tourists and the empty table, that the two were destined to be together.

      Sofia nodded, quite understanding that the tourists had the greater revenue potential, and pointed to herself and the vacant seat at Levi’s table. Benedetta couldn’t complain about her mixing socially with a guest in this circumstance and she had an urge to learn a little more of what this particular guest was up to.

      Decision made, she headed towards Levi. ‘Would you mind if I shared your table?’

      He’d been engrossed with his phone but glanced up at the sound of her voice, his hair lifting in the early evening breeze. ‘I’d count it as a bonus.’ His smile was slow and interested.

      Knowing she’d probably have sent an equally interested smile back if she a) wasn’t banned from cosying up to guests and b) didn’t suspect him of making a goon of himself over a girl half his age, Sofia pulled out the chair. ‘Thanks.’

      Levi put down his phone and turned to catch Davide’s eye. ‘I was just about to order.’

      Approving of his discreet getting-the-attention-of-the-waiter etiquette – she had a hatred of finger clickers and, even worse, those who thought it OK to whistle – Sofia watched as Davide jettisoned a tray of empty glasses at the bar and arrived with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Buonasera.’

      Not certain whether he’d been so prompt because he was watching her with a guest, Sofia replied, ‘Buonasera.’ And, when Levi made a courteous gesture that she should order first: ‘Un bicchiere grande di Orvieto Classico, per favore.’

      Levi’s eyebrows flipped up. They, and his eyelashes, were darker than the tawny locks on his head. His eyes gleamed silvery blue in the twilight. ‘What did you ask for?’

      ‘A large glass of Orvieto Classico. It’s an Umbrian white wine.’

      Levi switched his gaze to Davide. ‘Make that a bottle and two glasses, please, with a cooler.’

      Sofia sent him a mock-reproving look as Davide ambled off. ‘My dad told me good white wine shouldn’t be served too cold because it “destroys the bouquet.”’

      ‘Blame it on my Englishness.’ He smiled that slow smile again, causing Sofia to heave an inner sigh that he was out of bounds. ‘Are you enjoying your day off?’ he asked.

      She was about to answer, but